


that boy has got me curled

by alovelessgame



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, M/M, Overstimulation, Sex to Save a Hockey Season, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-28 23:15:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14459967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alovelessgame/pseuds/alovelessgame
Summary: “You know,” Jamie mutters, seemingly disinterested in the way Tyler is carefully coaxing his pants and briefs all the way down his thighs, “getting arrested for public indecency because I got a hand job in a car is probably grounds for losing the captaincy.”“Probably,” Tyler agrees and kicks off his shoes, unbuttoning his own pants and shoving them down one leg and then the other. “Let’s be grateful I’m not giving you a hand job, then.”





	that boy has got me curled

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this last December with the idea for a whole long, sappy story but that never panned out. So here I am, releasing this out into the wild. Enjoy.
> 
> Title is from "Crave You" by Flight Facilities ft. Giselle

It all starts, innocently enough, with a losing streak.

It’s 5-0 in the third period and Tyler can practically _smell_ defeat wafting off the bench. This loss will make it the fifth game they’ve dropped in a row and the guys are alternating between the kind of anger that promises penalties, and just staring off into space. Jamie, usually the most encouraging in the face of hopeless circumstances, finally subsided into silence sometime in the second period and hasn’t really spoken since.

The game mercifully ends without any more goals against and Tyler finds himself at a dive bar somewhere in the dark depths of the Stockyards, trying to drown down the taste of self-recrimination. He hadn’t managed to get a single puck past Rinne tonight and he could feel the old, familiar fears rising back up with each tick of the game clock. Before the trade, he’d been able to handle losses with a certain amount of perspective – he knew what he’d done right and what he’d done wrong, was able to adjust accordingly and hope for the best.

Now? Well, now the failings of the entire team weigh down his shoulders and that honestly scares the living _shit_ out of him sometimes.

But Jamie… _Jamie._ After the game, he’d simply nodded along to every second of Hitchcock’s ass-chewing and then dressed and left before his hair had even dried. Anything Tyler might be feeling, there was no doubt in his mind that Jamie was feeling it ten times more. He’d always taken his role as captain seriously, but even he seemed to be at a loss as to how to break out of this slump and that helplessness was disturbing to witness.

Tyler raises a hand, settles his tab and goes to stand on the curb and wait for his Uber to arrive. The dog-walker should’ve already taken the boys out, but they’ll probably want another go around the block before they’ll settle down for the night. He lets the cool night air sober him up a bit, the restless sounds of a busy Friday night drifting down the street towards him when he hears a sound abruptly cut off. The dive bar entrance is set back against an old alleyway that smells prevalently of rotting garbage and piss, but there’s two figures moving together in the shadows. Tyler takes a step forward because, drunk or not, he’s not about to let somebody get mugged or raped while he just stands there and –

“Oh,” he says and stops, because whatever is happening in the alley is so obviously _enthusiastically_ consensual that he feels the heat rush to his face. There’s a man leaning against the old brick wall, one hand stuffed into his mouth to muffle the moans while the other hand claws desperately at the shoulders of the man kneeling on the ground. It’s impossible to see past the bags of trash hiding him, but Tyler _knows_ what those sounds mean, and the kneeling man is making high, noisy whines of hunger that are barely muffled by the cock in his mouth.

It’s probably a testament to just how dedicated he is to snapping the losing streak – or maybe to how drunk he really is – that Tyler looks at this tableau before him and thinks, _that could totally work._

\- - -

The next morning is a mandatory meeting and Tyler sits through the management’s _we can do better_ s and _we just gotta play our brand of hockey_ s with nary a nod because he’s got a _plan_. That plan may involve getting Jamie laid and then watching his captain drag the rest of the team up out of the mud, kicking and screaming if necessary, but Tyler’s not going to offer that kind of information to the coaching staff.

“I think we should have a team night out,” Tyler says before anyone can leave the room. He watches the guys hem and haw until he adds, “with an open tab on me,” and they perk back up, the opportunistic assholes.

The bar they pick is pretty nice, that weird mix between an Old West saloon and a European club that should look ridiculous but somehow works. There’s a lot of beautiful women sitting at the bar and Tyler keeps sending Jamie back for shots even though the waitress offers to bring them by, hoping someone will catch his eye. By about the seventh time Jamie shrugs off a coy look or a hand on his arm, Tyler is honestly baffled, and the rest of the guys are getting bewilderingly drunk off of his fruitless efforts.

“What’s that all about?” Tyler asks when Jamie finally sits down, and nods back towards the blonde who’s glaring down the bar at them, insulted.

Jamie barely spares her a glance. “What?”

“You feeling okay there, Chubbs?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Jamie says and casually takes another pull of his beer, as if he wasn’t making Tyler’s master plan crash and burn right in front of his eyes.

\- - -

They end up losing the next game, too, and Tyler drags Jamie out to so many bars in the days afterwards that eventually Jamie just refuses to answer the door.

“I have a _key_ , you know!” Tyler reminds the light in the upstairs window but eventually scuffs his shoe against the wooden slats of the porch and leaves. He spends a fevered couple of minutes googling _ways to get your friend laid_ and _friend has no interest in sex? help?,_ but the results leave him feeling skeevy and he quickly deletes his browser history.

Jamie obviously has no interest in picking up, but it’s undeniable that _something’s_ gotta give, so Tyler takes a couple of swigs of some shitty vodka for courage and dials a phone number.

“Hello?” the voice answers, husky from sleep.

Tyler takes a deep breath. “Does your brother like guys?”

There’s a pause and then a muttered, “ _The fuck_?”

“You heard me,” Tyler says. “Does Jamie like guys?”

“I’m asleep, Tyler,” Jordie groans and Tyler can hear the rustling of sheets and the click of a bedside lamp turning on. “I’d rather not talk about my brother’s sexuality right now, thank you.”

“But this is important.” Tyler knows that he’s whining. It’s been a long couple of weeks. “Our _season_ is at stake here.”

“Your entire season rests on whether or not my brother likes dick? Things must be worse down there than I thought.”

“It’s a simple yes or no question, Jordie,” Tyler mutters back, petulant.

Jordie is quiet for a moment. “I can’t answer that, Segs. If Jamie wanted you to know something like that, he would tell you himself.”

The thought unexpectedly hurts. Tyler’s always tried to be discreet when it came to hooking up with guys, but he’s also never outright _lied_ to Jamie about it either. It’s just…something they don’t really talk about. “Listen, I’m just asking if I’ve got a chance.”

“Wait,” Jordie says. “What?”

“I’ve got a plan,” Tyler says, even though he does not in any way, shape, or form have a plan.

“What _plan_ , Tyler?”

“I’m going to save the Dallas Stars,” he says and hangs up before Jordie can tell him that he’s fucking insane.

\- - -

Tyler spends all of the next game day feeling like he’s going to vibrate right out of his own skin. The guys are in the locker room, checking their equipment and making jokes but the atmosphere is strained. They all feel the pressure to win and Tyler almost chickens out until he looks over at Jamie and sees the slump to his broad shoulders.

“Hey,” Tyler says and bumps their knees together. “I told a couple of kids that they could get a photo with us before the game. You got time to go now?”

Jamie immediately perks up. Tyler knows he secretly loves giving autographs and kissing babies and all the one-on-one fan interactions that comes along with being the face of an NHL franchise. It’s all the big, scripted and scrutinized segments that make him nervous. “Yeah, of course.”

It’s a couple of hours till puck drop so the concourse is blessedly empty as Tyler leads the way upstairs to the suites. He picks one of the rooms that hasn’t been reserved yet, ducking in and shutting the door behind Jamie. The lights are off but the rest of the AAC is lit up, making the room glow through the floor to ceiling windows.

Jamie turns to him, frowning. “What’s going on, Seggy?”

“Do you trust me?” Tyler asks, because _everything_ that happens from this moment on hinges on Jamie’s answer to that question.

“Yeah, of course,” Jamie says, without even a second of hesitation. “What’s this about, Tyler? I mean, you’ve been acting kinda weird but –”

Tyler takes a deep breath, and then drags Jamie further into the room. There’s a plush couch sitting close to the glass and Tyler backs Jamie into it, pushing gently on his shoulders until he sits down. Grabbing one of the fancy throw pillows off of a matching chair, Tyler throws it onto the carpet and folds to his knees.

Jamie makes an odd croaking sound as Tyler slides a hand between his thighs, levering them open and shuffling in-between them. Jamie’s wearing his usual track jacket and compression pants and it takes less than a second for Tyler to pull his cock out and fold the elastic waistband underneath his balls. He’s still soft, but Tyler knows he hadn’t exactly given the man any notice that this was on tonight’s agenda. Tyler strokes him a couple of times, watching him harden and lengthen as the soft, pink head pokes through his fist. He’s uncut, just like Tyler, and Tyler leans forward, nibbling gently on the foreskin.

Jamie’s hands fly to his head, fingers clutching Tyler’s hair. “ _Tyler_ ,” he whimpers as Tyler looks up at him through his lashes.

“You can say no,” Tyler says and stills his hand. He would never do anything that Jamie didn’t explicitly want him to; the very thought otherwise makes him nauseous. This is supposed to _help_ Jamie, because god only knows the man thought he could bear the sins of the entire team like some modern-day Atlas. It’s the last thing left that Tyler can think of to offer to him.

He already has every other part of Tyler.

Jamie’s hand is shaking as it threads through Tyler’s hair, running down the side of his jaw until Jamie’s thumb rests against his bottom lip. Tyler resists the urge to suck it into his mouth. “Are _you_ sure?” Jamie’s answer was quiet and trembling, but it was answer enough.

Tyler moans in response and turns his head, dislodging Jamie’s hand and swiping his tongue across the head of Jamie’s cock. Jamie squeezes his eyes shut, a low moan reverberating from his chest. Freed from his gaze, Tyler runs his tongue along the underside of Jamie’s cock and grips the base with one hand. He guides the foreskin down, exposing the shiny pink head and resting the tip on his tongue, lips gently suckling.

Jamie’s hips stutter forward but Tyler rises, riding the thrust out. He reaches out, squeezing Jamie’s hip and watching in satisfaction as Jamie presses himself back into the leather of the couch. “Sorry, sorry,” Jamie mutters and rests a big hand along Tyler’s face in apology. Tyler sucks him further in in reward and Jamie groans, feeling Tyler’s jaw trying to accommodate his cock and the press of his own flesh through the thin skin of Tyler’s cheek.

Tyler breathes through his nose, taking as much of Jamie in as he can as he bobs up and down, but it’s been a while since he’s done this, and Jamie is fucking _thick_ and he has to pull off long before he wants to. Jamie’s watching Tyler, his brown eyes nearly black and the light reflecting off the ice casting him in an alabaster glow, and Tyler swallows down a moan.

“C’mon,” he mutters and grasps the hand that’s still clutching at his hair, pushing down until it seems like Jamie’s the one moving him forward.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jamie groans and let’s Tyler back up before he cups the back of his head and presses down again. It’s a slow but undeniable rhythm, Tyler’s mouth stretching wider around his cock the further Jamie fucks in. The sounds are so filthy in the quiet of the suite; the wet smack of spit and precome and the little whimpers Tyler can’t help but make each time Jamie pulls back.

Jamie moans, his chest heaving even as his hips barely twitch forward. He thrusts too far once and Tyler gags, making Jamie mumble an apology and wipe the tears from the corner of Tyler’s eyes. Tyler just closes his eyes and sucks harder around the heavy cock on his tongue. His knees are beginning to hurt and his mouth aches something fierce, but Tyler can’t stop his high-pitched whines; his own hard cock rubbing against his briefs as his hips try to follow Jamie’s rhythm.

Jamie makes a sound deep in his chest and Tyler can feel his cock pulsing against his tongue. “Tyler,” Jamie warns around a groan and tries to pull back, but Tyler fights him, bullying his way even further in-between Jamie’s trembling thighs and sucking around the head of his cock desperately. Jamie clutches at him as he comes, fingers gripping Tyler so tight that he’ll probably be able to see fingerprints in the bruises later and _fuck_ if that thought and the taste of Jamie on his tongue doesn’t make Tyler finally come, hips shuddering and cock completely untouched.

For a long moment neither of them moves, Jamie’s legs still trembling from the aftershocks and his cock slowly softening in Tyler’s mouth. Tyler suckles gently, instinctively, and Jamie’s hand tightens briefly in warning. Tyler ignores him and slowly licks him clean before pressing a light kiss to the tip of Jamie’s cock and tucking it back into his pants. His jaw _aches_ and he’s going to have to take another shower before game time so he doesn’t get come on his jock, but overall Tyler is pretty goddamn satisfied with how everything has turned out.

Finally sensate, Jamie reaches down, manhandling Tyler up and shoving a hand between his thighs. He frowns when Tyler flinches and moans in sensitivity, but gentles when he finds Tyler’s softening cock and the tell-tale wet spot on the inseam of his pants. “Did you –” he starts to ask and then swallows down the words with a dry click in his throat.

“Yeah,” Tyler mutters, inexplicably embarrassed. All of this had been for _Jamie’s_ sake, and here Tyler was, fucking it up again.

“Oh,” Jamie says and then, deeper, “ _oh_.” Tyler shudders when Jamie’s thumb rubs unconsciously along the come marking the inside of his thigh.

Whatever Tyler might’ve said in his defense gets caught in his throat at the sound of footsteps in the hallway outside of the suite. Tyler takes a quick step back, clearing his throat and running a hand through his hopeless hair. He can’t see Jamie’s face in the shadows. “What do you say, Chubbs? We gonna win this one?”

“Yeah,” Jamie answers after a long moment. “I think we will.”

\- - -

They light the night the fuck _up_.

“Well, damn,” Spezza whistles down the bench during the second period. “Whoever those kids were, Segs, you should invite them back every game. I think they’re good luck charms.”

Tyler just smiles back serenely while Jamie chokes on his Gatorade.

Common sense dictates that things should probably be weird after you’ve given your best bro a truly mind-blowing blow-job, but Tyler doesn’t let something like that get in his way. It takes a week for Jamie to finally stop shivering like a frightened colt every time Tyler so much as glances in his direction, but Tyler is careful to act like nothing has changed between them. He still brings the boys over to run havoc in Jamie’s house and orders those ridiculous fruity drinks at the bar that Jamie pretends not to like but somehow ends up hoarding all to himself.

If the only side effect is a niggling in the back of Tyler’s brain and an increased sense of the placement of Jamie’s body in comparison to his, well, that’s not the worst thing for a couple of hockey players to have.

They ride the winning streak for as long as they can. Sure, they drop a couple of games here and there, but the feeling in the locker room is nothing like it was back during that first losing streak. But Jamie ends up hitting a goal drought in the middle of November, pulling some assists but unable to find the back of the net himself. Tyler watches him get more and more frustrated as the days pass, staying long after practice and crashing the net during games to no avail, and tries not to feel giddy because this is something he knows how to _fix_.

\- - -

“So,” Tyler tells the Skype window a couple of days later. “Say you, hypothetically, started having…feelings for someone –”

“Just tell Jamie you love him and want to have his babies, already,” Candace sighs. She’s swinging her bare feet in the air, trying to get the nail polish to dry faster.

“I,” Tyler stutters for a moment before powering through. “I didn’t say it was Jamie!”

“You didn’t say it _wasn’t_ Jamie,” Candace shoots back. And yeah, she’s got him there. Tyler folds his arms, pouting. The boys are playing out in the yard and he watches them running around in circles through the windows. Candace finally sighs. “If it makes you feel any better, I totally almost believed you,” she says and laughs when Tyler flips her off.

\- - -

“Do you think this is going to backfire?” Tyler asks.

Marshall continues to methodically chew the bone biscuit held between his front paws, blinking golden eyes up at Tyler’s face.

“Don’t _say_ that,” Tyler argues back. “I spent a lot of time on this phase of the plan and your negativity is not constructive.”

Marshall coughs, hacking up a piece of biscuit stuck to the roof of his mouth and nosing it across the wooden floor.

“Well then, you’re forgiven,” Tyler says magnanimously and glances out the window to see Jamie’s truck already stopped along the curb. “Now wish Daddy luck. He’s going to need it.”

Jamie is listening to his usual terrible synth music and glares when Tyler switches it to the new Hayley Kiyoko song. “You could come in on your own later,” he grumbles, like Tyler hadn’t totally volunteered to leave for the AAC early to help him work on some new shots out of the kindness of his heart. “Then you could’ve listened to your shitty music to your heart’s content.”

“Are you getting sick, Mr. Benn?” Tyler exclaims and presses a hand roughly to Jamie’s forehead. “Did I just hear you say we should’ve changed our game day routine? _You_?” Jamie swats his hand away, concentrating on merging into traffic and Tyler turns the song up in retaliation, pretending not to notice the way Jamie’s long fingers tap the steering wheel in time with the beat.

The player’s parking lot is nearly empty a good four hours before actual puck drop. Thankfully, Jamie parks in his usual spot in the corner of the lot the furthest from the lot attendant. Tyler watches with his heart in his throat as Jamie takes a few minutes to fuss with getting the windshield’s sunshade into place and gathering his phone and keys.

“Hey Jamie,” Tyler says, and Jamie gives an absent-minded grunt of acknowledgement. “Do you trust me?”

Jamie freezes, his hand resting on the door handle. It’s so quiet that Tyler can hear the little hitch in his breath, the way the keys clink together in his hand as he fists them tighter. The bright November sun is muted through the truck’s tinted windows, but Tyler still squirms in his seat when Jamie meets his gaze.

“Yeah,” Jamie says and then swallows. “Of course I do, Seggy.”

“Good,” Tyler breathes and flips the center armrest up. There’s nothing particularly sexy about the way he has to clamber over the gear shift on his way to Jamie, but Jamie’s hands still stutter into place over his hips when he finally straddles his lap.

Jamie groans like he’s in pain and Tyler kneels up in concern, checking to make sure he’s not digging into anything sensitive. His head hits the ceiling of the truck and cricks his neck, Jamie barely managing to keep him from going backwards into the steering wheel’s horn when he drops back down.

“Okay,” Tyler admits. “I may not have thought out the actual logistics of this.”

Jamie leans forward, pressing their bodies even closer together and reaching for a lever under the driver’s seat. He manages to snag it and Tyler definitely does _not_ let out a little squeal when the seat suddenly rockets backwards, freeing up room for them to move. Jamie starts laughing, his hands fluttering in the air as he tries to dodge away from Tyler’s slaps. “Give me some notice next time,” Tyler mutters and watches as Jamie’s eyes darken at the mention of a _next time_.

Tyler runs a shaking hand through Jamie’s hair before gasping a handful of gelled strands, making him tilt up into the pressure. Jamie’s breath trembles against Tyler’s lips as he presses them together softly, Jamie’s objectively terrible facial hair prickly against his chin. A moan rises up from somewhere in Tyler’s chest as they press closer, mouths opening and tongues shyly touching, his fingers hooking into the tender skin behind Jamie’s ears as he moves to cradle his head.

“Wait,” Jamie says when they break apart, but his lips slide up to nip at the skin under Tyler’s jaw. He makes a gut-punched noise when Tyler grinds down in his lap in response. “We…we really shouldn’t do this here.”

Tyler works a hand between their hips, pulling at Jamie’s belt until it comes loose and flicking open the button on his pants. Any further protests dissolve into groans as Tyler slides his hand inside and cups Jamie’s cock through his briefs, unzipping and spreading the plackets so he can watch himself trace the hardening length underneath.

“Fuck, Tyler,” Jamie groans wetly against his neck and nips when Tyler’s fingers pulse around the sensitive head, grinding his hips up into the touch. He moans quietly as Tyler pulls the elastic of his briefs away from his skin and drags it underneath his cock, but freezes when Tyler starts working his pants down over his ass. Jamie glances out the driver’s side window, watching the slow movement of the equipment and ice crews as they start making their way into the arena to get everything ready for tonight.

“C’mon, babe,” Tyler says softly and taps Jamie’s hip. Jamie looks at him for a second, then sighs in resignation and lifts his hips up as Tyler clambers up to his knees.

“You know,” Jamie mutters, seemingly disinterested in the way Tyler is carefully coaxing his pants and briefs all the way down his thighs, “getting arrested for public indecency because I got a hand job in a car is probably grounds for losing the captaincy.”

“Probably,” Tyler agrees and kicks off his shoes, unbuttoning his own pants and shoving them down one leg and then the other. “Let’s be grateful I’m not giving you a hand job, then.”

Jamie’s hands reach out to grip the sides of Tyler’s shirt, damn near popping the bottom buttons off. Tyler opens his mouth to protest but shuts it again when he sees the look on Jamie’s face. All his worrying over whether Jamie would throw his ass out of the car at the first sign of wanting a repeat performance had made Tyler completely forget that their first time had been something of a one-sided show and tell.

Tyler’s been hard since he left the house, trying his best not to moan when he’d felt the truck’s vibrations through the seats. He’s leaking, the head of his cock wet and the uncut foreskin already retracted. Jamie wraps a shaking hand around the base and Tyler groans, settling a little further down onto his lap. Jamie’s thighs are so thick that Tyler can already feel the stretch and burn in his inner thighs.

“Jesus, fucking look at you,” Jamie coos and jacks his cock a couple of times. Tyler whines, hunching up into his fist and grabbing the grip handle above the window. He wraps a hand around the back of Jamie’s neck, going in for a kiss but ending up just resting their foreheads together when Jamie swipes a thumb over the cockhead.

They spend a few minutes like this; Jamie slowly jacking Tyler’s cock and Tyler mouthing along Jamie’s jawline. The warm, wet sounds that they’re making together just makes them harder and the windows are starting to fog up from their panting breaths. Finally, with a groan of effort, Tyler manages to pull back. “I’m –” he says and then frowns, unable to remember how he’d practiced this speech in the bathroom mirror. “I’m clean, you know.”

“Okay,” Jamie says, thumbing the vein on the underside of Tyler’s cock like it’s something fascinating.

“No,” Tyler whimpers and drags Jamie’s hand away so he can think clearly. “I mean, I’m _clean_.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jamie says, slowly. “The bloodwork is part of our usual physical –”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Tyler groans with feeling, and grabs Jamie’s hand to guide it beneath him.  Tyler can feel the way his breath catches when his fingers find the slick clutch of Tyler’s hole. Jamie presses two of his fingers against the rim and then slides them in deep and easy, the hard pressure making Tyler dizzy.

“Were you…did you do this before I picked you up?” Jamie chokes out.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tyler moans, grasping Jamie’s wrist and grinding down onto his hand. “I had barely finished when you pulled up,” and lets out a keen when Jamie crooks his fingers.

“Oh,” Jamie moans, “there you go.” He keeps thrusting, even when Tyler fists his hands into Jamie’s hair. “I got you.”

"Please," Tyler whimpers against his lips, between breathy little gasps. "Please, c’mon, _please_ –"

"Yeah," Jamie says roughly, pressing his lips gently to Tyler's forehead. He pulls his fingers out, ignoring Tyler’s groan of protest, and pulls Tyler even closer. Holding him steady with one hand, Jamie fits the head of his cock to Tyler’s hole; for a split second – even with Tyler needy and open and _wet_ – there is some resistance, but Jamie wraps an arm around Tyler’s waist and pushes _up_ and Tyler finally opens up around his cock.

Tyler groans at the stretch, scratching his fingernails down Jamie’s chest and Jamie fits his mouth around the curve of Tyler’s neck, biting down to hold him still. Jamie is way bigger than the dildo Tyler had used to work himself up to this, so he’s loose but not quite loose enough, and there’s a slight catching drag that makes Tyler’s insides go all hot and shivery. He spreads his legs a little further and lets gravity drag him down until Jamie slides all the way in, flush against his ass.

“Oh, shit,” Jamie mutters, rolling his hips up into the soft heat around his cock. “Jesus, Tyler, do you even know how good you feel?”

Tyler rocks down as Jamie fucks in hard, his eyes tightly closed and his brow furrowing. There’s a flush working its way up his neck and Tyler chases the rosy pink with his tongue. He hunches over with the force of the thrusts, forehead resting against Jamie’s, not kissing but sharing air in gasps. Tyler can’t help the little _ah, ah, ah’_ s that escape him, the friction almost too much. His hips twitch helplessly and Jamie hauls him in tight, grinding deep and hard, his cock already twitching.

Tyler reaches for his own cock but stops when Jamie’s hand wraps around his wrist. “You did it before,” he says and its on the tip of Tyler’s tongue to ask what _it_ is when Jamie continues, his voice rough. “Tell me you can do it again, Tyler.”

Tyler’s head falls to rest against the broad slope of Jamie’s shoulder and he groans in desperation, rocking faster into Jamie’s aborted thrusts.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Jamie coos and arches his hips, grinding his cock against his prostate. Tyler sobs at the sensation, clutching down even tighter around Jamie’s cock and begging on every breath, a low litany of _please, please, please._ After a minute he hitches in a shocked breath, and when he finally comes it's almost more than he can take.

Jamie presses in as deep as he can go, coming with a hoarse shout. The sudden rush of warmth makes Tyler gasp, his cock pulsing weakly and he groans, sore. He pets his hands down Jamie’s shivering sides, feeling the way he slowly softens within him, before he slowly presses up onto his knees. Jamie’s hand reaches down to guide his cock out and gently brushes his fingers against the rim of Tyler’s hole.

“Oh, Christ,” Jamie mutters, collecting some of his own come from where it’s slowly leaking out and pressing it back inside. Tyler lets out a soft, shocked sound and arches into the pulsing fingers on his prostate. “Ought to leave you all messy like this. Let it run down your legs when you’re out there on the ice so everyone can see that you’re _mine_.”

“ _Fuck!_ ” Tyler muffles his shout against his own fist, the tendons taut in his neck as he comes _again_ , impossibly. He shakes like he’s coming apart above Jamie and it’s so good it’s edging into painful, Jamie’s hand still working him through the agony of sensation. He collapses like a puppet with it’s strings cut, making Jamie breath out a little _oof_ as he takes his full weight.

“Well,” Jamie says in the ensuing silence. “That was unexpected.”

Tyler slaps a hand across Jamie’s mouth, closes his eyes, and takes a deeply deserved pregame nap.

\- - -

That night, Jamie gets a hat trick.

“What do you think has changed for the captain?” a reporter from the NHL Network asks.

“Guess he found a good luck charm,” Tyler says, shrugging, and shivers under the weight of Jamie’s gaze from across the locker room.


End file.
